


One Persons Trash...

by writingramblr



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: 'Kastle', Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Resolved Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Trash Ship, With A Twist, but with karen and frank, dumpster diving, i haven't finished the second season yet so, ish, like claire and matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is chasing after a goon and jumps after them, but unfortunately doesn’t quite have the agility of Daredevil, or even Spiderman for that matter, and the goon gets away, lives another day, while Frank ends up in a dumpster.</p><p> </p><p>He'll live, but before he can just limp away, he gets found by one Karen Page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Persons Trash...

**Author's Note:**

> this is my contribution to the smutty angsty stuff that we Kastle shippers want. and i haven't even seen past episode 7, so this is considered somewhat AU. but kinda not.
> 
> i like the idea of him calling Karen 'K' after they've gotten to know each other better.
> 
>  

His breath shoots out of his chest as soon as he feels the pain of what could be a bruised rib, so he reaches down to press a hand against his left pectoral, testing the pain. It's bearable. Then he holds perfectly still, and tests the rest of his body, wiggles his toes, flexes his hands, curling them into fists then out again.

The bastard got away and left him in a crumpled heap, like day old garbage in a bin.

Except…that’s exactly where he was.

Inside a dumpster.

“Fuck.”

He says to himself.

“Hello?”

Okay so he was a little louder than he meant to be.

Probably about to give some poor little old lady a heart attack while she’s trying to take out the trash.

But then, time stands still, and his nostrils flare, filling with a sweet scent, overpowering the heavy stench of garbage that padded his fall, for just a moment, and a soft voice exclaims in familiar tones,

“Frank Castle! What the hell have you done to yourself?”

Before he knows it, he’s letting the strawberry blonde help him out, and up the stairs to the small loft apartment he knows she told him about and thought he wasn’t listening or would possibly remember.

The couch is comfy, and the cloth she hands him is cold, and a welcome relief against his inflamed skin.

He’s torn off his shirt in front of her before, so he’s not sure why she’s dancing around him so much, looking like she’s about to say something, before biting her pretty pink lips and then remaining silent.

“How bad is it?”

She finally says.

Frank presses the now warming cloth to his sore rib, and shrugs. The pain is lessening and it wouldn’t bother him if she didn’t look so concerned. He’s been through worse. Falling off a building is nothing.

“It’ll heal.”

“Seems like the second I let you out of my sight, you get hurt again.”

She’s stepped very close now, all of a sudden, and he’s the one who’s nervous. She had been treating him like some kind of wounded animal, cornered and cautious, and now she’s barely a handful of inches away, red gold waves of hair falling around her angel face, framing the kind smile curling her lips, and those icy blue eyes are boring a hole right through him. She could probably read his mind if she wanted, and he’s almost ashamed of all the dirty thoughts he’s had about her over the last month.

“I thought I was the one protecting you, not the other way around now K?”

He blinks, breaking the stare, and looks down at the ground, at her delicate white plush carpet, and hopes to hell he never bleeds on it or he doesn’t know if he could live with himself.

Her life is perfect, and even if the peace in it is fragile, he’s gonna fight for it for all he has.

“Is that what you’re afraid of?”

She’s biting her lip again, and now her thumb is between them, and her nail will be ragged from the worrying nibble thing she’s always doing.

Her free hand strays, and drags down his cheek, caressing the newly healed skin, where two weeks back it was still black and blue with bruises.

He fights with himself, not giving in to the burning ache to lean in to her touch, warning himself that this is bad, not good, and very wrong.

She’s vibrant, full of life, and deserves better than him, the violent ghost of a shell of a man, with the tragic past and demons that outnumber the stars in her eyes.

But…she’s not innocent either, and she’s killed.

She told him.

After a few too many sips of whiskey and a particularly nice bottle of scotch.

How else did one celebrate a not guilty verdict?

He’d even kissed her goodnight, and hated himself for it. He regretted it instantly, if only because it served to confuse her and distract her perfectly from Murdock. He didn’t deserve her either.

Her hand has slid down his neck and is grazing over past scars, wounds that should have killed a lesser man, and this is it, the moment, the edge of a precipice.

“K, you need to stop.”

His voice is rougher than even when he was in the hospital bed, strapped to the soft cotton. Beaten and bloody, yet she looked right at him, steady and true. She does the same now, and her fingers shake suddenly.

“Is that what you want, or what you think I want?”

His blood is singing beneath his skin, sparks rushing through his veins and heat prepared to go south and drive all logic from his mind.

“It’s for the best I think.”

He tries to sound tough, angry, and it doesn’t work. If anything, it’s spurred her on further, and she’s more daring, the way she leans in, tilting her head, causing those gorgeous waves to spill over her shoulder, and her shirt is loose, gaping in the front and revealing black lace barely covering her breasts from his gaze.

Oh this is very bad.

“Frank…tell me to stop.”

His eyes fall shut, so he doesn’t have to see her pouting at him, and he just revels in the feel of both of her hands on him, one plucking away the now useless cloth, the other moving to grip his neck and shoulder as she slides onto his lap.

His own hands move of their own accord, pulling her in and tightening on her hips so she’s locked in his embrace, her thighs clinging to him, and he can feel the shudder of her muscles.

She’s nervous.

Probably scared of him, or maybe herself.

He doesn’t know if he’s proud or sorry.

Both maybe.

Their foreheads press together, for another moment, delaying the inevitable, and he breathes heavily again, feeling the burn of his cracked rib.

“You’re sure?”

He mutters, and he doesn’t have to see her to know she’s smiling against his mouth seconds before her lips touch his,

“Yes.”

***

Karen didn’t have a clue that she’d run into the last man on earth who she thought she’d end up falling for, that night, late on a Friday.

Taking out the trash a few hours too late, she knew was pointless, but at least it got it out of the apartment.

Finding Frank atop the other delinquent trash deposits was a shock, but one she quickly got over when she saw his injury.

With him, it was never a big deal and she should know, she’d seen him in a firefight, she’d seen him after taking a beating, just like…well.

It was better not to think _his_ name.

Deep down though, something had been growing inside her heart, some small seed that had been planted when she’d first crept silent as a shadow through Frank’s house, and seen the bits and pieces of his past.

She’d learned he wasn’t the monster the media painted him.

While it hadn’t been an immediate process, it had happened faster than she’d realized.

Celebrating his release and subsequent name clearing, she’d seen something different, something beyond the constant exhaustion and regret in his eyes. She’d caught him looking at _her_.

Foggy had joked that since he’d first wanted to speak to her alone, they had some sort of ‘Clarice and Hannibal’ situation, and Karen had smacked his arm at that _. ‘He’s not a serial killer cannibal, jeezus Foggy.’_

But Frank was like a sort of watchful guardian, a maelstrom of violence that always calmed around her, and she supposed it was nice, having someone like that looking out for her.

She didn’t like to admit it, even to herself, but she had never felt in danger while alone with him at the hospital. She’d trusted him before she even knew him.

Back in the present, she’d kept waiting for him to stop her, to really say no, and then stalk out of her apartment like the ghost he liked to pretend to be.

He stayed.

He let her climb atop him and put his hands right on her, making her feel even safer, and she decided she liked him more for that.

The instant before she kissed him, she realized she felt something else, happy.

He was cautious there, without the comfort of half a bottle of booze masking how much they both wanted it, and she decided to let him know it was okay.

He was already shirtless, so she moved back and started to pull off her second day blouse. First day it was for work, second it was for comfort around the house.

His hands were on her wrists in a heartbeat, like iron, halting her movements,

“Wait. Let me.”

Her breath caught in her chest, and then she relaxed again, as his grip loosened,

“Okay.” She whispered back.

It was pure sweet agony as he caressed her skin, with those rough hands she knew had seen plenty of danger and death, but now were treating her like she was made of glass.

Goosebumps rose on her skin over every inch he touched.

Her nipples had pebbled behind the black lace and she knew the minute he touched her again, one hand brushing over her bared hip and curling below the waistband of her lounge pants, she was wet for him.

“Oh god.”

His calloused thumb nudged her clit through the fabric of her panties and she moaned aloud. He chased the sound with a fierce kiss, probably bruising her lips in the process, but she didn’t care, as long as he didn’t stop moving his hand.

She held his shoulders, the one place she knew she couldn’t hurt him, and she rode his hand until she swore she was about to see stars, before he stopped, and she gasped against him, need causing a whine to crawl up her throat.

“Not here.”

He kissed her neck after he hissed in her ear.

Strong hands slid beneath her legs as he stood, and in a heartbeat, she was airborne in his arms, while he walked them to her bedroom.

She braced herself against him, legs locked behind his back, and he bite her right above her collarbone, leaving a mark she’d need a scarf for.

He didn’t so much as drop her on the bed as he did throw her.

But she loved it.

He took the few moments he had with free hands to shed his jeans and boxers, before stopping to just stare down at her.

She felt self conscious, even after what they’d been doing.

Making out, heavy petting, and she wasn’t stupid, she’d felt the hardness under her ass and wanted to touch him when she was less distracted.

No time like the present.

She smirked up and him and moved in for the kill, bracing one hand on his chest, splaying her fingers over his muscled abdomen, while her other hand took hold of his cock.

He let her torture him for a few seconds, and then he sprung back into action, his hands moving to grab hers again, stopping her mid-stroke, and he growled,

“No more teasing. If we’re doing this, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk. That’s what you’ve signed up for. Last chance.”

His eyes were pleading, begging her to send him away, to turn him down, to deny him, but her heart swelled and she grinned wickedly,

“You better deliver.”

The ripping sound of her sweats was the next thing she heard, before his lips descended on her neck again, marking and nipping and ensuring she’d not forget this.

His hands were already scrambling for the bedside table when she shook her head swiftly,

“I’m on the pill. I don’t mind if you…”

Anymore might have shattered the mood, and he nodded, before tugging away the shreds of fabric that had been her pants and her underwear followed swiftly after.

He left her bra on and flicked her nipples with a thumb, curious to see how she reacted, and when she shivered against him, he kissed the valley between her breasts and showed them some attention before resuming his teasing of her clit with his hand, while his other hand pressed a finger, then two, then three, and she was gasping for air, and grasping the sheets beneath her hands, eager fists of fabric all that seemed to be anchoring her to the skin of the earth.

Until with a skill she was ashamed to imagine he’d possess, Frank brought her to climax just in time to slide halfway inside her, practically shocking her back to life and then kissing her to quiet her.

She’d never been very vocal, but then again, it had been a long time.

He pried her hands from her sheets and linked their hands together, while his other arm braced behind her and he insistently thrust himself all the way inside of her, letting all of those dormant nerve endings awaken screaming, and it was easily the fastest Karen had recovered and fallen back into another orgasm.

“Okay?”

Even in the midst of that, buried deep, and he was sweating over her, yet he was more a welcome weight she’d ever had, he wanted her confirmation.

“So much okay.” She managed to gasp and the smile that broke over his face was a fucking work of art.

He groaned aloud and buried his head in the cleft of her neck and shoulder, and she wondered absentmindedly just how many love bites he’d given her.

“’M close.”

He panted out a few moments later, and she nodded, feeling the low coil of her own release poised to break.

“Come for me Frank…please.”

Okay was a word.

More than how she felt and how she knew he felt.

But what he really said was,

“Ohhh, K.”

She hated how much she loved the sound of that.

***

Frank didn’t smoke. Hadn’t in years, except for a cigar when there had been celebrations for births.

Lying beside Karen, trying to catch his breath and wondering how come he’d fought himself over her for so long, he was almost desperate for a cigarette.

She curled into him, snuggled against his chest, and his arm was curved protectively around her, she fit into him so perfectly it was a sin how good she felt.

“You feeling all right?”

Her hand was gentle, and her fingertip danced lightly over the edge of his ribs, just past his slowing heartbeat.

“Very.”

“No regrets.”

It wasn’t a question.

She was telling him. That was a change of pace.

“Glad to hear it.”

He turned his head and placed a chaste kiss to her forehead.

He wasn’t going to ignore the growing shadows on her neck and shoulders and above her breasts, but she hadn’t seemed to mind when he was making them.

The funniest thing was how he’d completely forgotten to take off her bra. It was sexy, and yet, very much something he never expected to see her in.

Or out of.

He smiled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I haven’t actually seen you naked yet.”

Karen rolled her body over his and looked up at him from beneath hooded eyes, smoldering blue pools that he could drown in,

“And I can still walk perfectly fine…”

She slid backwards, and moved off him slowly, before turning and walking out to the kitchen, drawing his gaze to her bare ass and every inch of bared skin.

When she got back, with two chilled beers in hand, and a smirk on her lips, Frank was sitting up in her bed, ready for round two.

“I did make you a promise.”

Karen bit her lip, set the bottles down, and then reached behind to unsnap her bra, before tossing it aside,

“You did.”

The beers got warm and remained undrunk.

***

**END**


End file.
